


Like the Cat in the Adage

by Jade56



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bertie and Jeeves are cats, Brinkley Court, Everyone else is still human, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jeeves POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-10-28 06:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade56/pseuds/Jade56
Summary: Bertie and Jeeves are cats living in Brinkley Court. Despite the fact that they live in the same building, they don't often see each other, since Bertie spends his time with the ladies and gentlemen who reside at the hall, while Jeeves belongs to the servants and usually keeps to the servants’ rooms.One day, however, Jeeves finds Bertie curled up on the floor of the butler’s pantry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Despite being American, I'm using the British punctuation used by Wodehouse in this story, because after reading so many books that use it, I really wanted to try using it at least once.

One is aware of one’s place in life, particularly when one resides in the household of an old and affluent family. Some cats in such a residence belong to the notable family, and accordingly, those cats occupy a high social standing, with all its responsibilities and rewards. They are expected to comport themselves in a genteel and sociable manner, and are allowed great freedom in the household, so long as they do not take liberties with the innards of settee cushions. Then there are cats that occupy more modest positions in the household. These creatures, having entered the establishment under the ownership of one of the servants, are obliged not to disturb the family of the house, and may do as they like, provided that they keep quietly to the servant quarters.

In Brinkley Court, the country estate of Thomas and Dahila Travers, there are two cats: Bertram Wooster, and myself. Mr Wooster previously belonged to a brother of Mrs Travers, though he has since come into her possession, and now lives in the hall as a member of her family. Therefore, he naturally belongs to the cultured class of animal that makes social appearances in the sitting room and rests on the laps of the gentry. I, on the other hand, have passed through the hands of individuals employed by the household. I am presently in the charge of Mr Seppings, the butler. Consequently, I occupy myself with long hours of quiet contemplation in the servants’ rooms, assist my owner by discouraging rodents from making presumptions upon the kitchen, and generally endeavour not to intrude in the lives of the Travers family.

Therefore, Mr Wooster and I do not frequently enjoy one another’s society. His society is unquestionably enjoyable, since he is a remarkably friendly and expressive cat, and he is exceedingly genial to me whenever we do happen to meet in a corridor, and on those few occasions when he seeks my advice on some small matter; however, he has a certain position in the household, and I have mine.

I provide this preface to help explain my surprise when I came across Mr Wooster lying on his front on the floor of the butler’s pantry, the room that stores the china and pieces necessary for serving meals. The butler’s pantry is indisputably a room to be used by servants, and not by the gentry or their animal companions.

Mr Wooster’s face was pressed against the rug in the middle of the room. His legs were tucked under his light-coloured body, and his graceful tail was curled close, its tip moving anxiously from side to side. Caught in his thorough study of the rug, he did not seem to notice my entering the pantry.

‘May I help you, Mr Wooster?’ I asked him, in the mewing language of our kind.

Startled, Mr Wooster tensed, extending his front legs while his hind legs remained bent. He turned to me with wide eyes.

‘Jeeves!’

I confess that for a brief moment, I was distracted. It is not daily that I have the pleasure to look upon Mr Wooster, though when I am afforded such an opportunity, I cannot help but observe that he is a handsome cat. He has a shiny, healthy coat, and, as I could now perceive in detail, a bright, youthful face. The light, agreeable hue of his sparkling eyes was all the brighter against dark oval pupils.

He is, to put it lightly, noteworthy in appearance and bearing. Nonetheless, I am a dignified cat, and I quickly recovered.

‘I hope I did not disturb you, sir. I merely supposed that you might require some assistance.’

‘Oh, um, no, that’s all right. I only jogged over for a quick bite.’

‘It was my understanding, sir, that you took your meals in the dining room.’

‘Ah, yes, right, that’s right. In the dining room.’

His normally cheerful voice was clearly agitated, and anxiety remained apparent in his constricted posture. He scratched at his neck, and briefly caught his paw on his collar – a thin object with polka dots, acquired by the daughter of the house, Angela Travers, with whom he had a close rapport, and who had no doubt provided the collar with the best of intentions, yet who, unfortunately, had demonstrated dubious taste in selecting this particular adornment.

One supposes that there must be individuals, Angela Travers among others, who genuinely support polka dots, and one is prepared to accept that there is a time and place for polka dots, but there are limits.

Putting my opinions on the striking collar to the side – not permanently, of course, but for the moment – I turned my attention to the sad, fretful aspect in Mr Wooster’s features. He is a selfless creature, and I suspected that his gentlemanly ethic prevented him from bothering me with whatever serious issue was troubling him. I felt a distinct urge to approach him to provide warmth and support, though surely we were not on such close terms, and in any case, approaching him at this moment might startle him further. Instead, I merely assumed a cordial sitting position.

‘Are you feeling well, sir?’

‘Dashed well, never better,’ Mr Wooster replied, much too quickly. ‘Everything’s tip-top. I’ll, um, I’ll be off then. To the dining room.’

‘Very good, sir.’

With a concerned gaze, I watched him scamper out of the pantry. He was gone in an instant.

I could not make sense of Mr Wooster’s odd manner. It was strange enough that I should find him pressing his face against a rug in a room used by the servants. He was not barred from such rooms, but he hardly had any business in them, and certainly nothing that would require close inspection of rugs. His haste in exiting the pantry only added to the mystery.

Evidently, something was amiss. It was not necessarily my place to intrude on what might be a private matter, but I was essentially a servant of the house myself, being connected to the butler as well as serving as a specialist in pest control; as a loyal servant, I considered myself duty-bound to help one of my employers, especially a kind-hearted soul like Mr Wooster.

Quite unconsciously, I began to sniff. I realized suddenly that it was the sweet, pleasant scent of Mr Wooster. Striding across the floor, I followed the scent to the spot he had occupied on the rug, and bent my head down. His scent was surprisingly strong, considering the food that regularly passed through this pantry, and the presence of my own scent, which naturally marked my territory.

This pantry _was_ my territory, as far as any cats would be concerned, though I did not mind Mr Wooster making use of the room. His scent was a welcome improvement to the atmosphere. Appreciating the sweet aroma he had left behind, I allowed myself another sniff. Perhaps I lingered a second or two longer over his scent than was strictly proper, but I failed to see the harm in doing so.


	2. Chapter 2

Once I managed to pull myself away from the spot of scent Mr Wooster had left, I promptly began my investigation into his worrying behaviour.

Ordinarily, I kept away from the quarters inhabited by the ladies and gentlemen of the house, as the gentry would hardly wish to share their space with a servant’s cat. However, when circumstances required it, I could step lightly through any vicinity without making my presence known to the inhabitants. Noiselessly, I passed through the sitting room, the library, and the collection room, looking for anomalies everywhere I went.

It is a matter of public record that Dahlia Travers spent much time in her youth shouting directions to hounds, horses and hunters across lengthy hunting fields, and this story was certainly believable, since I could easily hear her loud voice booming through the hallways as she discussed local news with her husband in the study. I ascertained from their conversation that Angela Travers was away from home, apparently for a rendezvous with a fiancé whom I had not met, and her younger brother was still away at school.

Nothing was out of the ordinary, except that Mr Wooster was nowhere to be found. He was not in the dining room as he had stated. I ought to have come across him in one of the public spaces of Brinkley Court, since he was usually a very sociable cat, yet I was not so fortunate. If not for the residual scent he had left in the rooms occupied by the Travers family, it would have seemed that I was the only cat residing in this country estate.

His scent was pleasant and sweet, as I have noted previously, and there were instances when I was tempted to pause my searches and simply admire the poetry of that sweetness, but it was hardly suitable for an honourable cat to bask in the aroma of an employer. I knew that I had already allowed myself too great an indulgence in the kitchen, despite what I told myself.

After perusing that wing of the house, I tried the servants’ quarters and kitchen areas, yet I did not expect to find Mr Wooster there. Indeed, though Mr Anatole generously provided me with a treat as I passed through, little else was gained in that part of the search.

It was not until I returned to the foyer of the house that progress was made. The young lady Miss Travers entered the house, holding Mr Wooster in her arms, she with an expression of concern, and he unusually quiet and shy.

‘Mummy,’ she called out into the house, ‘I think there’s something wrong with Bertie.’

The young Miss Travers did not possess the full vigour of voice that years of training had developed in her mother, but it was clear from the way her call rumbled through the hall that she had inherited some potential. Accordingly, Mrs Travers stampeded into the foyer to answer the summons.

Meanwhile, I hid behind a dark chest. It was imperative that I not be seen in this part of the house, though I had no intention of leaving before I was satisfied with Mr Wooster’s condition.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ inquired Mrs Travers, peering at the strangely timid cat.

‘I don’t know. Just now I found him out on the grass, and he never leaves the house. Maybe he got lost, and caught something from being outside?’

It was true that Mr Wooster hardly left the house, and it was the reason I had not made a priority of searching outside. Occasionally Mr Wooster had accompanied his people out of doors, but I had never known him to venture out of the house alone.

Mrs Travers examined Mr Wooster more closely, causing him to hide his face against his paws. ‘Maybe he doesn’t like that collar you put on him. I wouldn’t.’

‘No, he loves the collar! You don’t know what you’re saying. It has a lovely design.’

‘You call those polka dots _lovely_? All that time you spend in London has got to your head, dear child. You should have got something checked, and I don’t just mean your head. There’s nothing like a checked pattern, you know, especially here in the country. I just printed an article about it in _Milady’s Boudoir_. I bet Bertie read it.’

‘Oh, really!’

‘Well, why not? And if it’s not the blasted collar, then Bertie probably just needs some rest. See if Seppings can look after him – he knows more about cats than anyone. He’s had that quiet one for so long, you know. I know more about dogs, myself.’

‘All right. Bertie, darling, don’t you worry. Everything will be all right. Let’s go find Seppings. He’ll know just what to do to help you feel better. Maybe you can even say hallo to his cat.’

Suddenly, Mr Wooster made a high-pitched squeaking sound, leapt away from Miss Travers, and dashed deeper into the house.

‘Bertie!’ the young lady cried.

‘Looks like he’s got his energy back,’ observed Mrs Travers, taking a positive perspective.

‘It’s too strange, Mummy. First he was curled up like an armadillo, and now he’s off as if in a race. There must be something bothering him.’ With a sigh, the young Travers continued, ‘Maybe he changed his mind about the collar after all.’

‘That’s what I’d bet on. The truth must’ve hit him when he saw his reflection somewhere.’

‘But it’s not a bad collar! It’s adorable.’

Mrs Travers was no more inclined to agree now than she had been before. I have often believed that there is a great deal to be commended in Mrs Travers.

Silently, I drifted away from the scene, hopeful that I could find Mr Wooster now that he had returned to the house. The trail of his scent was fresh, and distinguished from his residual smell by an unusual earthy note of grass, no doubt from his excursion outside.

I was as troubled as ever about Mr Wooster, yet the thought occurred to me that the best course of action might be to leave Mr Wooster alone. Perhaps, for once, he desired isolation. Even the most outgoing individuals must sometimes require periods of privacy. He might have departed the hall in search of solitude, and jumped from the arms of Miss Travers for the same reason. Or conceivably, he was avoiding me in particular. I had not failed to notice that he had bolted at the mention of seeing me. Another possibility was that he did not wish to share whatever was bothering him with another cat. I sincerely hoped that this was not the case, and that he would eventually allow me to provide whatever assistance was required.

I could not let the matter rest until I was certain that I had done all I could for the kind cat who, despite the differences in our social standing, had always meowed so graciously to me whenever we had crossed paths, and treated me with as much respect as if I were one of the royal pets at Buckingham Palace.

Following the scent trail, I was pleased to find that, this time, Mr Wooster had not gone far.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr Wooster had made a new home for himself in the collection room, under a table with a glass-topped display case. I could see the silver through the glass sides of the table. It occurred to me that the silver on display was terribly unimpressive compared to the golden creature underneath, though I was sorry to see that he was shaking somewhat.

He held his paw to his face, and made an unhappy whining sound.

Consciously, I made an effort to make noise as I entered the room, tapping the door with my tail so that I would not startle him as I had in the pantry. ‘Mr Wooster,’ I meowed carefully.

Mr Wooster jerked upright. ‘Oh, ah, what ho, Jeeves.’

‘I hope I am not taking a liberty, sir, but you seem to be in distress.’

‘Me in distress? Not at all, old thing. I’m as happy as a lark.’

‘I had the impression that I heard a whine from this vicinity.’

‘Oh, that was my cheerful birdsong, don’t you know. Because I’m happy, as a lark, you see.’

Such was his story, and he clung to it like an alibi. Nonetheless, my doubts remained. I was inclined to inquire further, though I was prevented from doing so when he quickly changed the subject of the conversation.

‘You know, Jeeves,’ he said, ‘I don’t often see you on this side of the river. You’re usually secreted away somewhere in the depths of the Court.’

‘As I am one of the servant’s cats, sir, it is only fitting that I remain with the servants.’

‘Well, you could wander about the house a bit more.’

‘Sir?’

‘I know that you belong to Seppings, but, well, Seppings is always moving about the place, isn’t he? Why shouldn’t you be able to, is what I mean to say.’

This was a kind offer for Mr Wooster to make, though, in all likelihood, he was only making conversation. Regardless, I was moved by his generous words. It was no small thing for the well-to-do cat to welcome a feline of a different social standing into his territory.

I knew that he would regret making such an offer, however, and felt obliged to make that outcome clear to him.

‘I think that you would find so much of my presence undesirable, sir. For one matter, your family might find me to be a nuisance. In addition, I would leave my scent over your territory. You would have to endure my smell asserting itself on your nose, all over the house, day and night.’

Mr Wooster whined again and cringed, as if struck by a cricket bat.

Alarmed, I moved closer to Mr Wooster. ‘Sir! What is the matter?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ Mr Wooster wheezed. His voice had almost breathless. ‘Nothing at all!’

‘It sounds as if you are having some difficulty breathing, sir. I suggest that your collar may be on too tight.’

‘Ah, yes, that must be it,’ answered Mr Wooster, eager, as I had supposed, to take any excuse I offered. ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head.’

‘Then for the sake of your health, it might be prudent to remove the article.’

‘Oh, right-o.’

Mr Wooster sat on the floor and turned his head down, using his hind leg to push off the collar over his downturned ears. The spotted eyesore fell quietly onto the ground.

‘That did the trick, Jeeves,’ remarked Mr Wooster, taking a deep, exaggerated breath. ‘Ah, yes, jolly old air. That’s the stuff. I feel much better.’

‘I am pleased to hear you say so, sir.’

‘Uh, thanks awfully. It’s good of you to be concerned about me. You don’t need to be, really.’

‘I am always concerned about your comfort, sir.’ I moved closer, partly out of a wish to express a reasonable portion of my sincere concern for him, and partly to be ready to cut him off should he change his mind about the collar. ‘As a member of the Travers family, you would be justified in paying me no notice, yet you have treated me with respect and kindness every time we have come into contact. It is my pleasure to assist you in any way that I can, sir. I am only too gratified to be of use to you.’

Unless I was much mistaken, a whine similar to the previous ones escaped Mr Wooster. To cover up the sound, he made an approximation of a sneeze.

‘Bless you, sir,’ I said appropriately.

‘Thank you. I, um, I’d better toddle off to find Angela!’ he exclaimed anxiously. ‘She’s probably worried! Mustn’t let a lady worry!’

Mr Wooster bolted once more, this time in the direction of the kitchen, in quite a different direction from that in which we had last seen the young lady.

Being far from satisfied with Mr Wooster’s condition, I resolved to continue investigating. In any case, Mr Wooster had made a mistake regarding the whereabouts of Angela Travers, and it would be remiss of me not to follow him so that I might inform him of this inaccuracy.

However, there was another small matter that required my attention first. I quickly journeyed to the study, climbed onto a table, found a copy of a lady’s magazine, and took hold of it in my mouth. I carried the periodical to one of the bedrooms, dropped it onto the floor, and nudged it open to a satisfactory page.

Having attended to that brief errand, I exited the study, and made for the kitchen. My tread was dignified, but swift, as I preferred not to lose Mr Wooster’s trail. Every encounter revealed something more about his state of mind, and I was confident that sooner or later, I would discover the meaning of the strange anxiety that he was attempting to hide.


	4. Chapter 4

The kitchen of Brinkley Court is the domain of Mr Anatole, the matchless chef admired by all who come to dine at the house. I had seen Mr Anatole in the kitchen earlier, when he generously provided me with a treat, but no human was present in the area at this time. There was, instead, Mr Wooster, who had taken refuge under a table. Finding him in the kitchen, I could not help but note that the sight of Mr Wooster often gave me pleasure to which even the recent memory of Anatole’s treat could not compare.

Apropos of this thought and our setting, the words of Shakespeare entered my mind: ‘So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground’. Though not very frequently having the advantage of Mr Wooster’s company, I had often admired him from afar, and his charming spirit made for a pleasant subject upon which to muse when my mind yearned simply to contemplate a thing of beauty.

Generally, I do not shy from sharing these poetic insights when they have some relevance, but I refrained from speaking this particular quotation. One must remember decorum.

In any case, seeing Mr Wooster presently was not the joy it might have been, for Mr Wooster’s expression remained as troubled as before. The pressing concern was to provide assistance where it was plainly needed. To borrow yet more words from the Bard, ‘Who alone suffers, suffers most’, and I was resolved to be a companion to Mr Wooster through whatever his adversity might be. It was to be hoped that I could alleviate his hardship if not remove his difficulty altogether.

I approached Mr Wooster respectfully. ‘Sir.’

‘Oh, what ho, Jeeves,’ he said, with little vivacity, if any. ‘Golly, you seem to be everywhere today.’

‘You expressed a desire to confer with Miss Travers, sir. I came to inform you that she is not in the kitchen.’

‘Oh. Of course.’ He glanced around the kitchen as if the space had previously escaped his notice. ‘You’re quite right. The eye spots not a single Angela. Well then, there’s no reason for me to let the grass grow beneath my feet, is there? I’d better toddle off and look for her.’

He stepped out from under the table, with the careful tread of one who needs to charge one’s energy before a bolt is made to safer ground.

It seemed to me that we would continue our pattern of the day – him finding an excuse to scurry away from me, and me searching for him – indefinitely, unless I took more direct action.

I cleared my throat.

‘If you wish to find Miss Travers, sir,’ I said, ‘then I would like to assure you that I will stay by your side until you have located her.’

Instantly, Mr Wooster became motionless, evidently at a loss to overcome this latest challenge. Though speechless for a brief moment, he soon made an attempt to recover his excuse. ‘Well, you don’t need to do that. I think I can find Angela on my own.’

‘Of that, there is no question, sir. Nonetheless, I will remain by your side and provide assistance, if it is not objectionable to you, sir.’

He hesitated. ‘I, um, no… You don’t have to do that…’

‘I endeavour to be of service, sir,’ I asserted, with both pride and tenacity.

‘But you don’t want to search with me…’

‘Indeed I do, sir.’

‘Well, there’s something else I need to do, anyway…’

‘Do you not wish to search for Miss Travers, sir?’

‘Oh, come off it, Jeeves!’ Mr Wooster huffed, shaking his head with defeat at last. ‘Can’t you just leave me alone?’

I was thankful that his dissembling had perhaps come to an end, though I was dismayed by the request he gave. There was the possibility, after all, that the change in his behaviour had come out of some breed of antipathy towards me. ‘Of course, sir, if you desire it,’ I answered, sympathetically. ‘Mr Wooster, do you desire me to leave you alone?’

His tail curled as he struggled with himself. ‘No, I bally don’t,’ he blurted. I became conscious of a marked sense of relief, though I undertook not to let the feeling affect me extravagantly. ‘Jeeves, there’s something I want to say. I’ve wanted to say it all day, if I’m being honest. But it’s not the kind of thing I can tell you. It’s not something one of the gents says to one of the staff. Oh, I don’t mean that in a bad way. You’re a perfectly spiffing chap – a paragon among cats, really.’

‘Thank you, sir, I understand.’ I paused briefly to appreciate his kindness, and would have liked to dwell longer on the subject, had circumstances permitted. ‘There is a marked distinction between our positions in the household, and certain topics of conversation might not naturally occur between us.’

‘That hits the nail on the head. Well, this thing I want to say to you, I don’t think it’s right if someone in my posish says it to someone in yours, when they’re in the same house. It looks bad, rather. Not the thing a _preux chevalier_ would do.’ He started pacing around the floor under the kitchen table, looking in every direction but mine. ‘But goodness, I want to say it so frightfully badly! It’s tearing me up. Do you know what it’s like, Jeeves, when you absolutely want to do a thing, but you absolutely can’t?’

‘Yes, sir.’ As my mind had just recently turned to the works of Shakespeare, I was fortunately equipped with a germane quotation. ‘You find yourself letting “I dare not” wait upon “I would”, like the poor cat i’ th’ adage.’

Intrigued, Mr Wooster paused in his frenetic pacing. ‘That’s pretty nifty. Your stuff?’

‘No, sir. Shakespeare used such a description for his character Macbeth.’

‘I bet the cat in the adage didn’t have it half as bad as me. What was this poor feline in for?’

‘The adage referred to speaks of a certain cat that, though she would eat fish, would not wet her paws. She wavers continually between her desire for fish and her fear of the river in which the fish can be found.’

‘Oh, I see. This moggy’s thinking goes back and forth between “I could sure go for a kipper!” and “Boy, that’s a lot of water!”’

‘Precisely, sir.’

‘That really does capture the state of mind, Jeeves, though it’s not fish and water playing with a swing in Bertram’s grey matter.’

‘One often finds it a cathartic experience to share one’s troubles, sir.’

‘I can’t tell you, Jeeves.’

‘Sir, you may trust in my discretion.’

‘I know that! But I don’t want to upset you.’

‘I would be only too gratified to be taken into your confidence, sir.’

‘You don’t know what I have to say. You’re not going to like it. It’ll make things deucedly awkward.’

‘Not more awkward than continuing to ignore the issue, one might suppose, sir.’

‘You have a point there. Maybe… Well…’

At that exceedingly inopportune instant, just as victory gleamed over the horizon, a low human voice resounded through the kitchen.

‘Mr Wooster, are you in here?’

Mr Wooster and I both acknowledged the noise with a turn of our heads, and beheld the butler of Brinkley Court.

A man who had been in service for many years, Mr Seppings held himself with a stately and serious demeanour when on duty. He edged into the room with the distinguished poise and quiet personality of an unemotional oak tree.

‘There you are, Mr Wooster,’ he said, bending at the knees to look under the kitchen table. There was a note of fondness in his voice as he referred to the young master in that formal manner. ‘And Mr Jeeves, as well?’ Mr Seppings was well aware that I preferred to be called by my surname. ‘I wonder what you two are doing together? Come here, Mr Wooster, if you please. Miss Travers requested that I undertake an inspection of you.’

Mr Wooster mewed apologetically to me, as if it were his fault that our conversation was cut short, and then approached Mr Seppings, who carefully lifted him into the air and onto the table. I watched attentively from the floor, unwilling to let Mr Wooster out of my sight, given his recent troubling tendency to bolt great distances like a flash of nervous lightning as soon as he found the opportunity.

Making a careful examination of Mr Wooster’s ears, eyes, and nose, Mr Seppings exhibited all the skill and care that he demonstrated when he carried out his regular duties. As thorough as usual, he examined Mr Wooster’s jaw, his breathing, and gently, he ran his hands along Mr Wooster’s body and limbs.

Having had my own health assessed by Mr Seppings on numerous occasions, I knew academically that he was inspecting the condition of Mr Wooster’s skin and coat by running his hands over Mr Wooster’s body in such a fashion. However, my academic knowledge was helpless to a pang of jealousy that struck me. Possessed as he was of an incomparably kind and charitable nature as well as a celestial beauty like the sky that is the daily bread of the eyes, Mr Wooster has figured prominently in some of my more unmentionable thoughts. I will put it simply that I would have liked to have the liberties currently allowed to Mr Seppings.

‘Your condition seems satisfactory,’ Mr Seppings noted with approval. I may have twitched slightly when he gave Mr Wooster another friendly stroke on his back.

Mr Wooster purred gratefully, and jumped onto the ground. He turned towards me and mewed his apologies once again.

Mr Seppings gave us an indulgent smile.

‘You simply wanted spending time with another cat, didn’t you, Mr Wooster? You have always been a remarkably social cat.’ An uncertain look was directed at me. ‘But the same can’t be said of my old friend. I hope he is not bothered. You don’t mind Mr Wooster’s company, do you, Mr Jeeves?’

Hoping to clarify my stance on this point, I trotted a few steps closer to Mr Wooster and stretched in a relaxed fashion.

‘He seems fine,’ Mr Seppings observed. Satisfied, he exited the kitchen.

Mr Wooster fondly fluttered his tail as he watched Mr Seppings leave. ‘Stout fellow, Seppings. Good man.’

‘If I may remind you, sir,’ I interjected with all due haste, keeping a careful watch on exit routes, ‘you were about to be so good as to take me into your confidence.’

‘Oh. Was I?’

‘Most assuredly, sir.’

‘Uh, well, all right.’ He did not tense in preparation for a sprint. He merely sighed deeply, with a sad note that jarred my soul. ‘I suppose if nothing else, I’ll one-up the old cat in the adage by getting it over with. No more running back and forth, I mean to say, you know. It’s fish and water for Bertram, though I anticipate more the latter than the former.’

I was uncertain as to what Mr Wooster would tell me. The theory posed by Mr Seppings, that Mr Wooster merely wished to spend time with another cat, seemed to explain the situation admirably. Mr Wooster desired to spend more time with his species and I was his only option. I supposed that he continued to feel reluctance to ask for my company. As the cat of the Travers family, he was in an awkward position to ask for my companionship. I hoped that this was the issue indeed, for if there were no objections from any side, I would gladly provide what companionship was in my power to provide, and joy would return to his melodic voice.

In fact, the theory of Mr Seppings would prove incorrect – or, at least, not precisely correct.

‘It started this way, Jeeves.’ Mr Wooster breathed deeply. ‘Angela told me about her fiancé she was going to meet up with. They don’t always see eye to eye, but she adores him like nobody’s business. Well, she let me in on it, telling me all about butterflies swarming in the gut and how she never wanted to be parted from him and all that, and I realized that the feelings she had for him were a lot like how I feel about you – oh, it’s good to finally say so, I must admit – but I didn’t think it would be right to tell you about my feelings – please don’t be upset or get the idea that you have to leave or anything! – but I kept thinking about you. I got a fancy of getting a tiny little whiff of your scent. The tiny little whiff didn’t cut it for a jolly aroma like yours, though, and I got rather carried away. That’s when you caught me flat on my face in the pantry, where the turf was marked with your scent. I hope this all doesn’t trouble you, Jeeves. I’m sorry, I truly am. Oh, won’t you say something?’

‘Sir…’ How much better this was than what I had hoped for! I could scarcely draw enough air to speak. ‘You have feelings for me?’

My mind had become empty save for thoughts of the golden creature before me; my heart had filled with the tender song of nightingales and the gentle scent of roses; my soul was overcome with the sweet joy of a living dream. However, stunned as I was by his confession, I was too dazed to speak any of this aloud.

I wish I had done so, for my shocked expression conveyed a different message to Mr Wooster.

‘Oh, dash it, I shouldn’t have said anything!’

He made his fourth abrupt sprint of the day.

‘Mr Wooster!’ I called after him. ‘Wait, sir!’

It was no use. He had made his skittish retreat – in the direction of the sitting room.


	5. Chapter 5

Even before entering the sitting room, I heard the spirited voice of the daughter of the house, apparently in conversation with he whom I sought. The sound had not been deceptive, as I soon saw her crouching down next to Mr Wooster, who nervously shifted his weight in an agitation that went unnoticed by Miss Travers.

‘I see now,’ she was saying, ‘that the old polka dot collar wasn’t really the best piece for you, Bertie, darling. That trend has come and passed, I think. I’m going to get a nice check collar for you the next time I saunter into town.’

It was rewarding to hear these words. I deduced that, as intended, the young lady had found the polka dot collar apparently discarded, and a copy of _Milady’s Boudoir_ lying on the ground, as if perused by a cat, opened to an article featuring checked designs. Naturally, she had supposed that Mr Wooster had lost his taste for the spotted collar and had admired the checks. A cat of leisure living in the country would be very suitably garbed in a check pattern.

(One must yet remain vigilant, for left unrestrained, a taste for checks could lead to excessively loud arrangements, and someday the worth of simple brown tweeds might need to be advocated, but for the time being, I did not need to worry that Mr Wooster would be presented in something unbecoming.)

There was no time to relish this outcome, however. Mr Wooster, whose agitation now manifested itself in nervous shifting reminiscent of the pirouettes of a ballet dancer, required my attention at once.

With sufficient loudness, I courteously meowed in greeting, staggering Mr Wooster and charming Miss Travers.

‘Oh, it’s Seppings’s cat! Jeeves, isn’t it? Would you like a collar, Jeeves? I bet you’d like a grey one. With pinstripes!’

I was not accustomed to wearing a collar, though the idea of grey with pinstripes was a favourable one. The thought occurred to me that there was hope for this young lady. I fluttered my tail approvingly.

‘Splendid! Oh, I’ll draw up a design and have them made bespoke. Wouldn’t that be precious?’

On this cheerful note, the generous young lady skipped away into the depths of the house, leaving behind the only cats of the household.

Aware of the dangers of a quick escape, I meant to initiate conversation, but Mr Wooster proved faster.

‘I say,’ he said, ‘that’s decent of Angela to snag us some new attire, what? Though I can’t imagine why she changed her mind about the polka dots.’

‘The young lady’s actions are sometimes mercurial and mysterious, sir.’

‘Doesn’t matter, I suppose. Checked is just as good. Well, I’d better dash off, you know, and see to some things needing seeing to.’

‘You will look very handsome in a checked design, sir.’

The statement arrested him instantly.

‘Really?’ he murmured in astonishment.

‘Yes, sir. You are an exceedingly handsome cat, sir, and a check collar would suit you admirably.’

One could almost see him rolling the words over in his mind as he made sense of them. After some time, he spoke again, as clearly as one could speak with a breathless tone.

‘Thank you, Jeeves. Awfully kind of you.’

‘Not at all, sir. If I may add, sir, that I find you to be not only of noble beauty but also magnanimous spirit, and that I have admired your scent no less earnestly than you admired mine, I may begin to make clear to you that I return your feelings.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, sir.’

He sat solidly on the floor, his wide, glittering eyes fixed on me as if I might vanish if he looked away.

I copied his motion, to assure him that I was here to stay if it would not be objectionable.

‘Jeeves,’ he whispered. 'Really?'

‘Yes, sir. I was struck by wondrous emotions when you revealed your affection for me, and I regret that I was too overcome to respond to you properly. If you will permit me what is called a second chance, I would like to tell you that I have oft admired you from afar, sir.’

Mr Wooster was beginning to return to life, though only beginning. ‘Have you really, by Jove?’

‘Yes, sir. Yours is a presence of the sweetness of cherubs and the beauty of angels, and you dance through my mind like the golden melody of joy.’

‘Golly. Is that your stuff?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then, it’s all right if we spend more time together, isn’t it? Rather like what goes on between Angela and her chap, a bit of courtship, if I may risk the word. I mean, if you want it too?' he asked, with bashfulness befitting a gentleman.

For all the poetry I have come across in my existence, few words had ever sounded so melodious as these. Though I maintained dignity of speech, my warm regard for him gave unusual weight to my reply. ‘I would be greatly pleased, sir.'

‘My word, you do mean it, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ and that was certainly the truth.

Mr Wooster brightened tremendously, but soon trouble arose again. ‘Oh, it’s a little awkward though, what with our friend Class Distinction lurking just around the corner. I mean to say, it’s not fair to you, is it?’

‘Sir, I am proud of my place in this household, and it pleases me to serve you and your family however I can. I understand that your relations may not approve of any degree of closeness between ourselves being made public, but that contingency is of little consequence, so long as we are sensibly discreet. In any event, I would prefer to continue to perform my duties, as before. In fact, sir, I have noticed a spot on your back in need of grooming. May I?’

In the parade of a charming stammer, a number of various sounds proceeded from Mr Wooster – despite my words, this was a duty I had never performed for him before – though the parade happily ended with, ‘Well, if you’d like to!’

‘Thank you, sir.’ I gladly sat behind him, and started licking the fur on his back. The urge to groom him had been a strong one, and judging from the happy purrs that escaped him, he found the situation as enjoyable as I did.

Grooming is a common form of bonding between cats, yet the gesture seemed to hold special significance between us just then, now that we both knew the strength and character of our mutual feelings.

This was perhaps when the slow, sweet music of the sentimental type of motion pictures ought to have started floating through life and celebrating this blissful occasion, except that Mrs Travers bustled into the room, followed by Mr Seppings.

In their presence, I guiltily pulled away from Mr Wooster, as I was uncertain that this development in our relationship, though evidently satisfactory to Mr Wooster, and highly agreeable to myself, would be acceptable to others of the household.

The lady of the house, who had been discussing dinner plans, stopped when she noticed me.

‘Ah, what’s this? It’s your cat, Seppings. I don’t see him much.’

‘Shall I return him to the servants’ quarters, madam?’

Mr Wooster quickly sidled up next to me, nuzzling his face against my neck. I mewed modestly, endeavouring not to tremble from the force of my fondness for this gentle cat.

‘Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary. Bertie seems to like ol’ Jeeves. And look at how well behaved he is. He’ll be a good influence on our little blot.’ Mrs Travers was regarding Mr Wooster with an affectionate eye. ‘See, Jeeves even managed to get rid of that ugly spotted thing from around Bertie’s neck.’

She laughed, and Mr Wooster humoured the innocuous joke with a good-natured mew.

I was not entirely certain she was speaking in jest.

I did not have the opportunity to study her expression to determine how much she knew, however, as Mrs Travers then moved on, as did Mr Seppings, to resume discussion of dinner plans.

Though, if one kept a watchful eye on one’s surroundings, one could observe that Mr Seppings turned back for an instant to cast a fond eye on his cat and that cat’s new friend.

Once they were gone, Mr Wooster turned to me in high spirits.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘there was nothing to worry about on that front! The dear aunt has sealed her approval on you hobnobbing with yours truly, and Seppings seemed all right with it, too.’

‘Indeed, sir, that is most gratifying.’

‘Now, Jeeves, light of my life, if it’s not too soon to throw that little epithet about – it’s not, is it?’

‘Not at all, sir,’ I answered, with a quickened heart. It is likely not necessary to reiterate how long and sincerely I had admired Mr Wooster.

‘In that case, light of my life, you wouldn’t mind a spot more grooming, would you? I waddled outside earlier, you know, and I got a smidgeon of dirt on the Wooster fur.’

The excuse was hardly necessary, given that the urge to groom him was as strong as it had ever been, but I decided to humour him. ‘Certainly, sir,’ I replied, in a light tone.

I began again to groom him contentedly, he mewed cheerfully, and now the slow, sweet music could come.

Though not in a position to say that life had become the definition of perfection – there was considerable ground to be covered before Mr Wooster and I became as a single soul inhabiting two bodies, and he was not yet adorned in a check collar – it could be said of life that it was well on its way.

End~


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